Post 82
Falls coming on.
Leafy duff in piles of fluff
Beguiles my dog
Snorts and spins.
A purple leaf
Breaths on his nose,
He smells the cloves
Warming in the wine,
As we homeward trek;
Through flecks of life once lived
Trampled rainbow signs
Of all we hoped to bid
And all we knew must die.
Any dog can smell a coming meal;
Like the brightness of dead leaves
Bringing out this brighter feel
-- To what indeed may come
When all we know is done.
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